


it's much too tired to be so bold.

by timshels (littleblacksubmarine)



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Christmas, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 15:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16835563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblacksubmarine/pseuds/timshels
Summary: They say there's no place like home for the holidays. Frank Castle would probably agree.





	it's much too tired to be so bold.

Frank had never been fond of the feeling of dust settling - maybe it was the fact that adrenaline had a way of soaking into your bones, heavy and hot and sharp, and stubborn in its resistance to leaving even when it had survived its purpose. Maybe it was that he didn't trust the feeling of calm that came with that purpose evaporating, usually on the plane ride home from a desert he wouldn't miss in and of itself. There was always something unfamiliar about returning home, craving normalcy but harboring a secret relief when it didn't come in a full wave.

Upon reflection he supposed it shouldn't surprise him when he'd found himself with the memory of mangling Billy's face until it was unrecognizable was a mere sight in the rearview mirror, so to speak. Frank knew he'd been given a blank check, a chance to start a life with that normalcy guys like him always said they'd hold onto with both hands, even if it was just the type of bullshit men who'd killed and been _good_ at it always seemed to be saying.

He'd halfheartedly found an apartment - dingy, shoebox sized, high up and on a quiet block where the idea of being actively bothered was unlikely. He'd gone back to working construction, savoring the feel of a hard day's work in his limbs when he settled back in bed, only to not sleep until the morning loomed uncomfortably close. Frank had never been inept at running on fumes.

Curtis knew just when the put pressure on Frank to come back to group, and also knew when it was best to let it lie. Most times, Frank sat in a contemplative silence, uncomfortable chill of an entirely uncomfortable folding chair ever-present against him no matter how many layers he'd hide under.

Warmth seemed to fade before Frank could even take note of it, and with it had come the holidays - unwelcome, colorfully brash and aggressively everywhere. It had sneaked up on him, confronting him with the first splash of tinsel in a bodega window down the street. If he never heard another Bing Crosby song, it'd be too fucking soon.

Frank remembered Christmas growing up, somewhat, but more often than not he'd find himself turning over and over those memories of Christmases spent in the desert. He remembered brightly wrapped gifts of practical gifts coming from home, handwritten cards from the kids he'd keep closed in his Bible. Maria had always sent something for Billy, knowing nothing would come, happy to spare a new watch or a few well-chosen DVDs. The idea made his stomach turn in hindsight.

He supposed some part of him could empathize with little Billy, all alone in the desert on Christmas with no one to send him so much as a fucking fruitcake, no one except the wife and kids of his best friend. The thought made him sneer and simultaneously pity himself deep down.

Christmas Day had passed, filled with disinterestedly picked-at Chinese food and a buzz of something on television that would never stand out to remember. Men like Frank didn't need television, at least not when they had an agenda like he'd had in spades for as long as was necessary. He'd picked up a small television, hoping it would be a small half-step toward normalcy - what did normal people even do? He couldn't remember.

The day after Christmas had come, blessedly, and he'd woken up, head slightly scratchy with residue from the fingers of whiskey he'd let brush against him last night - a small concession to the spirit of holiday cheer, whatever that meant anymore.

He hadn't expected the knock on the door to his apartment later in the evening, and his posture immediately stiffened even though the sound of the knock could be best described as _tentative_ as the television droned, nearly forgotten in the background. There weren't many - if any - people left in his life who could be expected to be a tentative knocker. Frank approached the door with unease, grudgingly looking through the peephole, hoping whoever had come couldn't sense him on the other side.

David, with a six pack of some fussy sort of microbrew in his thick-gloved hands like a goddamn offering. 

Frank wondered for a few ponderous seconds if he might've seen it coming if only he'd stopped to sit with it, and flinched at the idea that he might be a person to be _checked in on, was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd just check in_ , like it was something warranted.

When he opened the door, he was surprised with the confidence that David stood with, like he'd considered the decision to come see Frank without giving thought to how gruffly he might be greeted.

"Wondered if you might need some company," he said, cheerful, surprisingly at ease.

Frank stared. David didn't waver. In the back of his mind, Frank fleetingly noted it felt reassuring to face down someone who didn't find him threatening anymore. He could swear David minutely rolled his eyes, and it was enough to spur him on to at least move to the side so he could enter the apartment. There were wet splashes on the wool of his coat, a few stray snowflakes still surviving moving into the warmth of the apartment from the outdoors.

For his part, David immediately moved to the kitchen, putting the beer in the fridge, which was largely empty except for the rest of his takeout and a few stray, sad condiments.

"Spartan," David noted, returning to the entry area of the apartment and surveying the minimal contents of the rest of the apartment.

"Well, you know. I don't need much," Frank said, quiet and not prepared for socialization. There were times in so many evenings like these that he found his voice a grumble, rusted from disuse.

It made David offer up a small smile, and the accompanying sadness in the expression made something ache in Frank's stomach, a hot, pulling twist.

"Did you do anything for Christmas?" David asked, though they both already knew the answer. Even if Christmas were to hold any sort of appeal to Frank these days, the idea of finding anyone to spend the holiday with would be a challenge that would require an amount of effort that tired him just to consider. Curtis had been having some type of _thing_ with the group members, had invited him to come for turkey and dressing and all of that shit that Maria had always been so capable with. He imagined it would be heavy on his tongue, a lump of sawdust too rough to swallow.

The laugh that escaped Frank seemed bitter to his own ears, surprising him but unfortunately fitting. "You're lookin' at it," Frank said, the only explanation needed. "Not even anything good on TV unless you want to watch some kind of parade or something." The idea was dreadful.

"I wanted to ask you if you'd come. Sarah wanted to ask you," David said, as though he felt the need to offer some defense of showing up the day after Christmas out of some type of desire to act like there was any chance of scraping together some modicum of _holiday cheer_. There was a terse beat of silence between them. "It's a lot easier to coordinate when someone has a phone, though," he added pointedly.

"Yeah," Frank said, ever a man of few words. "Been a while, huh?"

"Yeah." David made no effort to excuse his absence, blessedly knowing somehow that the idea of spending time together - doing what, watching football or something? What did people _do_? - was improbable at best, and laughable at worst. He returned to the kitchen as though unwilling to make a half-hearted play at small talk, and returned with two of the beers already opened.

"Kids good?" Frank asked, taking one of the bottles David offered.

David nodded. "Same as ever. Leo won a ribbon at the science fair. Something about robotics." Frank could hear the note of pride in his voice, felt that same hard pull in his stomach. He watched David take a long pull from his bottle, quickly licking away a stray bit of foam that escaped at the end of it. Neither of them made any move to sit.

"Sarah good?"

"Yeah, she's good," David told him, drumming his fingers against the counter. "Keeps asking me to bring you for dinner, _Pete_ ," he said affectionately, though with an undercurrent of apology. "Figured you might need some space." David seemed to be doing a lot of _figuring_ these days.

There was a slight sheen of condensation forming on the brown glass of the bottle, reminding Frank that there was always a timetable for drinking a beer when it was suitably cold and that he ought to be ashamed at the idea of waste. He took a big mouthful, more like a gulp, and was inwardly thankful for the reprieve from feeling obligated to speak. He could feel David watching him, gaze steady and fixed on his features.

There never seemed to be enough warmth to go around anymore, fading further and further as days ticked by, even when they all seemed to run together.

"There doesn't always need to be quite so much space if you don't want there to be." The mirth was gone from David's voice, gone low, quiet, steady.

"Yeah," Frank agreed, directing his attention back to his beer, feeling his brow furrow as he drank, squirming inwardly as he felt the walls press tighter, closer.

The space between them narrowed as David took a step closer, draining his beer. There was an unreadable look on his face. Frank felt his mouth go dry, almost as though he could taste the grit of too-warm sand back in the space between his teeth again, like when it had been everything. Despite the overpowering thought that he ought to move to do something - _protect_ himself, the way he'd learned so long ago was necessary - he let his eyes drift close.

David's hand was on his waist, almost searing through the layer of the long-sleeved t-shirt Frank wore.

His finger was warmer than Frank would've expected as it tapped to the bottom of his jaw and then settled, not retreating and instead tipping his face up and away from where his eyes had pointed down at the floor. There was someone on television singing along with jingle bell accompaniment, but the words didn't register.

"Look at me," David said, commanding but not frightening - the opposite, maybe. They'd found themselves here before, usually in the basement, once in the upstairs guest bedroom of David's comfortable home in the comfort of his sleepy neighborhood. Frank had been tired then, bones killing him under the strain so many grinding collisions of bodies, so much of his own carnage splashed around his face, the dappled purpling of bruises on so many inches of him, always. David had tended to him, soothed him until he slept. They didn't speak of it in the morning - they never did.

He allowed his eyes to open and found David studying him, that mathematical mind always working. This time, Frank didn't turn away.

"You don't have to stay away if you don't want to," David told him, earnest as ever and now circling the point of Frank's jaw with the pad of his thumb. There were no calluses on his hand. It felt unusual to be touched by a hand that wasn't readily rough, one that didn't mean to maul him, and he swallowed. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't want you to."

"Yeah," Frank repeated, not trusting himself to speak, not knowing what would come back and blanching at the idea that once words came dribbling or tumbling out they wouldn't be able to be taken back. He was thankful for a few beats of silence, save for the drone of a department store commercial playing in the distance: _forgot someone on your list - never too late to beat these deals_.

David stepped further into his space, their toes touching. Frank had never been able to shake the need to wear his boots inside, always mindful the idea of needing to flee if the need should arise. Curtis had described it as _hypervigilance_ to him once, and when Frank found a second or two of grace toward himself that he could use to evaluate his own behavior, it made sense. When those two seconds evaporated, Frank only considered the benefit of being able to shove a gun barrel through someone's teeth in the blink of an eye if that need presented itself as well.

"Do you know any words other than 'yeah?'" David asked, though not unkindly. The hand at Frank's waist curved around to his back, pulling him closer so that their hips touched. He could feel David's cock pressing against his thigh, beginning to firm.

"Nah," Frank told him, savoring the slightly irked smile that spread across David's face. He allowed his eyes to close again, unable to avoid it out of fear for what he might see, if he were being honest. David allowed it, though his grip on Frank's hip remained steady as ever.

There was the faintest brush of lips against his, dry but not chapped, and so gentle it was almost imperceptible. Frank shuddered, feeling some of the air escape him through his nose, unable to replace it as David's mouth slotted against him in a proper kiss. It was almost chaste, in the way you might pet a skittish horse as not to impose, waiting to assess the reaction. Frank Castle was not the type of man to tremble, not on paper, at least, but proving to be so in practice.

"Don't be afraid," David soothed, kissing him again, sliding his other hand down Frank's shoulder, his front, to his side to settle on the other hip. "It's all right," he added, sensing the tremulous breath Frank allowed into his mouth. It was an unusual sensation to be fussed over, and he fought down the churning in his stomach as he remembered the way Maria's hands had roamed across his body after every deployment, touching each scrape, every freckle, any unfamiliar scar with a delicacy that he wondered if he'd deserve now.

He wanted to protest the accusation but tamped down on it tightly, knowing it would sound in vain as soon as he'd speak it.

"Do you want this?" David asked, making no effort to move forward without confirmation, knowing that Frank was the immovable object that hadn't met any kind of external force he couldn't stop, couldn't pound into submission.

"Yeah," Frank said. "Should I say more?" he asked, trying to add a few more syllables to the only thing he felt he'd been able to speak all day.

David gave a low laugh against his neck, lightly grazing his teeth there. "Hold onto it for now; wouldn't want you to waste all your words in one place," he teased, a few fingers dipping up and under the hem of Frank's shirt, playing over the skin and tracing over the leanness of his stomach. Frank leaned forward again, pressing his mouth against David's again, tasting the malt and barley on his tongue. He could feel a quick pulse of desperation run through him, and as he moved, he felt their teeth collide.

Though he assumed any times David may have been hit in the teeth were probably few and far between, he didn't seem to consider the idea that Frank might apologize, and instead pushed him hard against the wall. Frank could hear the thud of plaster, could feel it solidly against his back. This type of handling felt familiar, less frightening than fingers petting him like some type of cherished thing.

"Want to fight me?" David asked, pushing his knee between Frank's legs, mouth returning to Frank's neck.

"You know I don't, Lieberman," Frank said in what would normally come as a growl but instead landed as more of a hoarse disagreement. David's hands were now roaming freely under his shirt, warm across his belly, and he made a rumbling noise of agreement against Frank's neck, nipping gently there.

"And you know I wouldn't make you anyway," David told him lowly, hands sliding further up to ghost two fingers across his nipple, feeling it pebble beneath his fingers despite the warmth of David's fingers. "I don't have to make you since I know you'll be good for me, won't you?"

The fingers at his nipple rolled it now, delicate and intended to exact a response, and Frank let out a shaky breath that sounded weak, and he could feel an embarrassed flush spread across his cheeks. "You don't have to make me," Frank said, and it felt more a relief than a concession. "I want to be good." The submission tasted unfamiliar in his mouth. It had been too long since anyone had handled him like this, the last being when David laid him out across the quilt in the guest bedroom, had run his hands down Frank's bared back, kneading his ass through his boxers until he'd -

The recollection evaporated as David ground his thigh upward between Frank's legs, against the growing hardness he found there, pulling a shaky sound from him.

"I'm the person you don't need to fight," David continued, now running his nails over Frank's nipple, left hand skating up his chest to pay equal attention to the other one. "I know what you need, and you trust me for it."

Frank ground his hips down, a choked sound escaping him before he could stop it. He placed one hand on David's shoulder and the other at the back of his neck, pulling him in hard for a searching, nearly frantic kiss to ground himself. He could feel himself crumbling, could feel his control slipping through his grasp, knowing he didn't need it here - this was the last place control would serve him. This was the place he needed it the least, if at all.

David's tongue slid against his, stealing his breath until he pulled away to let Frank catch his breath in gulps. "Tell me you'll let me make you feel good, Frank," he asked, surveying Frank's face, the redness of his lips.

"I will," Frank said, not trusting himself to navigate the exact verbiage. "You can do anything."

The response seemed to quietly thrill David, and he led Frank to the small, almost closet-like space of the bedroom, and Frank allowed himself to be carefully pushed onto his back in the center of the small bed. There was no need for anything massive, not when Frank seldom slept, and never with anyone else, and there was so little space between the two of them when David joined him that Frank knew it was futile to try to hide his shaking. David reached for the bedside table, twisting the switch to snap the cheap lamp on. Frank found their bodies splashed with a dim yellow glow.

He allowed his fingers to twist in the thin quilt for a few moments, trying to steady himself in vain as David's mouth worked down his neck, nipping at his collarbone through the layer of his shirt. His lips closed around the swell of Frank's collarbone, leaving a damp spot on the fabric before coaxing his arms up, helping Frank out of his shirt. David leaned back on his heels, watching Frank take a deep breath, exposed here, laying one hand on his belly.

Frank supposed he ought to feel grateful, lying here with David watching him, knowing that none of the scars carved into his body would come as a surprise. David had been there when they'd been little more than weeping, ragged gashes and holes in his body, had patched him up and stitched him together. There was something comforting in being looked at by someone who'd repaired him with the same patient hand that trailed over the topography of the past lives he'd been carrying around, unwelcome but omnipotent.

"You look so good," David praised, lightly running his fingers over the now-straining front of Frank's black jeans, feeling where he needed attention. "I can't believe you let me do this to you." It had been so long since someone had marveled over him, marveled over more than the way he'd killed or the way he looked splashed in bruises even as they yellowed around the edges after a few days. Frank took a shaky breath, knotting his fingers again in the blanket to keep himself from acting before David gave permission. "Ask me."

" _Please_ ," Frank ground out, knowing it was expected and with no qualms about offering up a plea. It was, blessedly for once, not his job to take. "Can I - " he started, though he made it no further after realizing he wasn't sure what he was asking for. He looked up at David, near helpless and floundering here in the confining plane of his bed as David scrambled his way out of his own shirt.

David tangled the fingers of one of each of their hands together, soothing as he worked himself between Frank's legs where he sprawled out in the bed. He laid his hand again on the bulge in Frank's jeans before mercifully undoing the button, pausing for a millisecond, teasing as he drew the zipper down. "That's it," he encouraged.

Now David turned his attention to Frank's boots, untying each set of laces and prompting Frank to kick them off, to toe out of his socks. It occurred to Frank that there was something unnervingly intimate about the act, the movement designed to keep him from running until he couldn't see where he'd come from. There was nowhere to go, and no desire to get there, and he allowed himself to be kissed again.

Their fingers untangled, and David helped Frank to lift his hips, to slide out of his pants and underwear. Frank kicked them aside. A good soldier folds his belongings, keeps them neat and respects them, but Frank supposed at least that part of him had shrunken or evaporated here, with David's fingers settling fondly into the dips above his hipbones.

"Fuck, you look so good," David repeated, roughly weaving his fingers in Frank's hair to drag him into a rough, filthy kiss, making Frank arch his hips up into the air.

"Please, touch me," he said, his voice a needy rasp, knowing he'd beg if pushed a centimeter further. It was terrifying to have the control stripped from him, and as equally thrilling to know that control was nothing he needed here. David would never hurt him, would never tear him apart just to humble him, to see what he looked like inside, to leave him in a heap the way the world should've in the first place.

To say that there was no need to fight David was accurate, staggeringly so as his hand wrapped around Frank's cock, finally stroking him, pulling a groan from him. He fought not to thrust upward, wanting to obey orders, even if they were unspoken. David ran his fingers affectionately through the hair at Frank's temple, soothingly kissing his forehead.

"I know what you need, and I know that you wouldn't ask," David told him, rubbing the pad of his thumb in a lazy circle around the head of Frank's cock. "Kind of fucked up that you expect me to read your mind, though I appreciate the compliment that you think I could, I guess." It would've made Frank chuckle under different circumstances, ones where he wasn't rocking his hips up, desperate to increase the friction. David laid his hand on Frank's hip and pushed down, steadying him, taking his time. His other hand was speeding up.

"David, I - " Frank gasped, using the hand David had freed in the process of pinning his hip down to try and cover his mouth, to try and keep a desperate moan from battling its way out of him. David batted his hand away, still stroking his cock.

"Don't do that. Tell me what you want."

The flush of shame had expanded from just his cheeks to spread across his face, down his throat to the top of his chest, like bashfulness was suddenly eating his body alive. "Y-your fingers," he confessed, his voice rough and broken like ground glass. David smiled, pleased and leaning into kiss him again with a sharp bite to his bottom lip. Frank flinched away but made no noise of protest.

When David's lips had left his, he replaced them with two fingers, dipping them into his mouth. "Get them nice and wet," he said, his voice husky as Frank sucked at him, desperate and knowing what lay ahead, knowing the way that David had taken him apart before, writhing in his own home. David made a soft noise of pleasure, picking open the button and zipper of his own jeans before reaching inside and curling a hand around himself. "That's good," he gritted out, pushing his pants down.

Frank watched the path of his pants sliding down David's skinny legs, a quiet moan escaping him around David's fingers as he saw his erection freed, saw the way it bobbed in the air with precome glistening at its tip. He watched David idly stroke himself, and slid his own hand down to wrap around his own cock as David fought clumsily to get his jeans all the way off without pulling his fingers from the wetness of Frank's mouth.

By some miracle, David finally escaped the bunched fabric of his pants and laid down beside Frank, letting his fingers slither free and allowing a small dribble of spit escape from the corner of Frank's mouth.

"Are you sure these are what you want?" David asked, though they both knew the answer.

"Can't you tell?" Frank panted, almost frustrated in his need.

David smiled, almost wolfish, and wrapped one hand lightly around Frank's throat, not nearly enough to apply any pressure. Another hot rush of need raced through Frank at the feeling, and he let out a garbled moan of encouragement.

"Smartass," David said, leaning down to press their lips together, no venom in his voice even as he tightened his grip around Frank's throat, beard rasping against his face. "You can tell me to stop," he added cautiously after some deliberation.

"I don't want you to." Frank gasped, feeling David's fingers squeeze momentarily before releasing him to a lighter grip. "Please, don't stop." He could feel David's wetted fingers sliding between his legs, dipping into the crease of his ass so that the tip of one of them could circle the tight, hidden furl before slipping barely inside of him. It wasn't enough, nowhere near it, and he found himself pressing his hips down, back, anything to get more of the sensation of David's fingers easing inside of him.

"You're tight," David murmured, leaning down to kiss him, sloppy and with dissipating finesse. "Do you know how it makes me feel to know I'm the only one who's ever done this to you?" Frank's eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed to feel so consumed, to have rolled over to expose his belly and the most vulnerable parts of himself. His finger pushed further inside of Frank now, almost fully seated.

With his eyes closed, Frank could focus on the sensation of the fingers inside of him, could almost forget that he was being held and kissed in cheap sheets in a rundown one bedroom apartment. The feeling of being handled so intentionally made something despairing well inside of him, hot and overwhelming and closer and closer to forcing him to rattle apart, to leave him a heap of ashes. Maybe he'd been a heap of ashes all along, had come home so many times from so many horrors until he'd simply dissolved into nothing. Maybe the idea would've been comforting.

David pressed in with another finger, making Frank cry out, though his eyes remained closed, even more tightly so now.

"Good," David soothed, kissing him again and flexing his fingers tighter for a few moments around his throat. He adjusted, more firmly atop Frank, pinning him down effectively. For a split second Frank thrashed, instinctively trying to throw an unwelcome, threatening weight off of him. He could've dismantled David without so much as breaking a sweat, could wrench his bones apart with the ease of a Sunday morning and not even so much as flinch at what would spill out. The instinct faded as David slotted their mouths together, sliding his tongue into Frank's. "You all right?"

Frank didn't trust himself to speak, had maybe even forgotten any combination of syllables that might make a modicum of sense, and merely bobbed his head with a jolt of desperation. David's fingers crooked inside of him, scissoring experimentally being lightly rubbing over his prostate. Frank made a startled sound, body bucking, unsure where to surge toward as he stroked himself, as David worked his fingers in and out and everywhere, rubbing inside of him. He could feel his toes curling.

"You're fucking gorgeous, Frank," David breathed, his hand leaving Frank's throat to pump his own cock, unable to hold off any longer. He'd normally huff out a protest, dismissive and almost cruel in the way he'd argue, but with David taking him apart under his hands, he could offer no opposition, only to moan helplessly. "And you're so good. You've been so good."

Those words landed gracelessly in his ears. _Good_ had long gone by the wayside, something Frank could never be again, not outside of this bed, not anywhere outside of underneath this man, and certainly not splashed across news stations and papers. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut, pulling roughly at his cock. David's fingers were moving unceasingly now inside of him, and Frank could hear the wet sounds of David stroking himself, his pace almost as frantic as Frank's own. He felt hot all over, allowing himself the luxury of soaking up a few drops of praise before the moment burst.

"You going to come for me?" David asked, his voice hoarse next to Frank's ear.

" _Fuck_ ," Frank panted, unable to offer anything else, not with David's fingers crooked and seated inside of him, perfect and ever-present. "Please, please - "

David kissed him again, sliding his fingers out a centimeter before letting them be pulled back into the heat of Frank's body to return to their ministrations against his prostate. "I want to watch you come, Frank - fuck, you look so good. Come for me. You've been so good for me."

He sealed their mouths together again, swallowing Frank's moans as they rocked together. The feel of David exploring his mouth, the way David's hips ground against him, the safety here made Frank shake all over, letting out a broken cry against David's mouth as he spilled between their bodies and into his own hand. David's fingers moved for a few brief moments inside of him before slipping free of the warmth of Frank's body.

"It's your turn," Frank murmured, heavy with fatigue but needy to please, never one for greed. He laced his fingers together with David's, resuming the pace of his strokes. David made a strangled noise, sagging forward and tightening his fingers in what little he could of Frank's short hair.

Frank gasped into David's mouth at the feel of his hair being tugged, only matched by the sputtered gasp David let out as he tensed all over, spilling hotly between their bellies, smeared as he collapsed on top of Frank. Uncertainly, Frank let his hands rest on David's lower back as the other man caught his breath.

When their breathing had slowed, David gave him a slow, soft kiss, rolling off to the side but throwing a graceless leg across Frank's body. Frank swallowed as they broke apart, too much and not enough there at the same time. He allowed himself to be silent, feeling himself shake, afraid to fall to pieces even as he wondered if it might be welcome at last. There was a water stain on the ceiling, and he pondered what it might be shaped like for a moment before closing his eyes, listening to David's breath.

"Your brain is loud," David murmured, letting his hand rest in the center of Frank's chest in the middle of the mess they'd created, no doubt feeling the racing of his heart but too tactful to call attention to it.

"Nothing bad," Frank said dismissively, unsure if he was trying to comfort someone, and if so, which of them it might be. He laid his hand on top of David's and made no further move to speak.

David cleared his throat, uncharacteristically tentative for the evening.

"There are some things out there that you can still trust, Frank," he said, eyes fixed on the way Frank drew small, slow circles on the back of his hand with his thumb.

Someone on television was singing still, cheerful for the holidays - _I'll Be Home for Christmas_ or something similarly saccharine. There was nothing to say. He was quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into this fandom; I loved pretty much devoured the series so I hope I did it some justice!  
> I love a good sad Christmas story, so I figured, it's that time of year...
> 
> Title is from LCD Soundsystem's 'Christmas Will Break Your Heart.'  
> Thanks so much for reading!


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